


THE ART OF SEDUCTION, PART 2 - UPDATED

by FuckYeahHarryHart



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Dom Harry Hart, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Gentleman Harry Hart, Light Dom/sub, Love, Lust, Protective Harry Hart, Seduction, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27920869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckYeahHarryHart/pseuds/FuckYeahHarryHart
Summary: After their initial encounter in the manor lounge, Kingsman quarterly reviews find Harry Hart and Gwendolyn alone together again. This time in Harry's office. What starts out innocently enough turns into a challenge of wills, tradecraft, trust and surrender.Very explicit, but I hope tasteful.Added to the original ending
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 7





	THE ART OF SEDUCTION, PART 2 - UPDATED

**Author's Note:**

> Also part of my larger fic Kingsman III. Since a lot of us really like Harry Hart, I'm posting the sexy chapters separately. Since they can stand alone pretty well, it'll be easier to find and enjoy.

Harry Hart was a man not easily distracted. If a task required his focus, there was little of the outside world that could pull him away. There was even less temptation in his internal world, where he was the master of his thoughts and emotions. But recently, the image of Gwendolyn, watching her as he pleasured her with only his eyes and the suggestion of his hands, squeezed its way to the forefront of his mind, even with all the walls he put up against it. She made him question the identity he had inhabited for so long he didn’t know if he had the capacity to be anything or anyone else. Was he a man who could be with a woman half his age? Who happened to be the daughter of his closet colleague? One who had sacrificed himself to save Harry’s life. The thought was unsettling.

An obvious rationale against getting involved was the age difference. He was almost exactly twice her age. Which wouldn’t be inconvenient in all circumstances. But recently, the thought of Gwendolyn watching him when she was younger had him feeling disconcerted. She apparently had spied on him, along with her own father for years. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or disturbed. How old was she when she hacked the Kingsman network? A lot of information, sensitive information had been transmitted through those comms over the years. If she had access to his files, she would know more about him than anyone else on earth. Had she gone through his files? She had never brought up any of its contents. That didn’t mean she hadn’t seen it. The possibility was discomforting.

She had mentioned she young when she started learning computer technology. But she had also mentioned that she wasn’t able to spy on Merlin until she was a teenager. Tracing though her father’s computer network helped her survive her teens. Age difference had less significance when one was almost 60 and thirty. Though some may not find it appropriate, it was essentially, the business between two fully mature adults.

But a thirteen year old girl spying on a 26 year old man? He had never known her at that age. He didn’t even know she existed. But what kind of observations of him had she made at that impressionable age? It was not just a difference in age. It was a difference in maturity and mindset. Gwendolyn mentioned that she had taken a particular interest in Harry because he was her father’s closest colleague. Had she placed him in some kind of surrogate father role? Or was she hanging on to what was no more than a teenage infatuation?

Though by all appearances, Gwendolyn seemed perfectly stable, mentally sound. No evidence of PTSD, no emotional scarring that hindered her personal performance as an agent. She was more taciturn and reserved than most, but same could be said of Harry. She was surprisingly well adjusted for having such a harrowing past.Was anyone able to adapt that well after that kind of tragedy?

Mostly he feared that she was attracted to him because of displaced feelings for her father. Not that she saw him as a father figure, but perhaps she was filling an emotional void that was left when her father died, using the person who reminded her of her father the most. She certainly didn’t treat him as she would a father. She often seemed to suggest she was interested in Harry beyond a professional relationship. He was finding it harder to resist and at the same time more troubled at the the thought.

He was certain that she was attracted to him. All the signals were there. The subtle touches and physical contact she made. Her hand on his forearm to politely ask for his attention. Fixing his tie if it was crooked or smoothing stray hairs that got caught in the wind. The pleased smile that she always gave him when he appeared. The way she would end up by his side with this tea the way he always prepared it.

Then doubt would creep in. A lack of confidence that he rarely had to contend with. Was she the one initiating contact, or was it he? He couldn’t recall her actually actively seeking him out. He always was the one to come into her space, whether it be running into her on the shooting range, or joining a briefing, or finding her in the sitting room for afternoon tea. She was always the one who was there first. There was no way she could have possibly predicted his location for all of those times. She was an excellent spy, but that was mind reading level. Perhaps he was the one that was making himself available to her.

He knew she was fond of him, respected him, and at times admired him and equally found him exasperating. She was a little bit of a flirt when the mood struck her, but so was Eggsy and he was married. Had she actually made any overt moves that suggested she was interested in him as more than a mentor and a friend? Anything more than the harmless flirtation all the Kingsman engaged in? One would think the agents were ALL sleeping together at times, overhearing some of their conversations. On the rare occasions that she participated in these sessions, he discovered she could throw down as well as the best of them. She had never been that suggestive with him directly.

He prided himself on being a man without internal conflict. A man who did not doubt his words or actions. Then Gwendolyn had appeared, carrying doubt in one hand, conflict in the other, and handed him both.

——

It was late evening at Kingsman HQ. Harry leaned back in his office chair, interlaced his hand behind his head, stretched out his shoulders, unfolded his legs and let himself ease into a slightly less decorous position. It was quarterly review season for Kingsman agents and support staff. That meant long days for everyone, but most of all for him now that he was, in addition to Galahad Sr., part time Arthur as well.Most everyone had already completed their reviews. The expected issues reared up. The standard responses were given to placate.

How long was Harry going to be playing two roles, Galahad Sr., and Arthur? Weren’t they going to do something about the two Galahad situation? Would agents be assigned new titles since most of table was empty?Some of the agents had put in request for different names. Would new recruits have to go through the standard process or were they foregoing that tradition because of the dire need for new blood? They had questions about the new faces currently filing spots on the Kingsman’s roster. How long was the cowboy going to stay? It wasn’t going to be permanent, was it? How much sense did it make to have an Agent Tequila at their table of Knights. Shouldn’t he be required to take a new moniker as long as he represented Kingsman? And where did Gwendolyn fit in the scheme of things? Was she the new Merlin? She definitely could be. In time, she could almost be as good as her father. But she was also indispensable in the field as well. Would a new role be created for her? Would they just keep calling her Gwendolyn? Was she a permanent addition? Was she going to be assigned a code name?The kingsman agents worked best with a grounded foundation. Which had a place for everything and everything had its place. Including all the agents and support staff. An organisation based on decades of tradition, customs and heritage was understandably thrown off when unknown variables suddenly appeared without established roles, boundaries, and expectations.

Harry had his own similar questions as well. He wasn’t sure what to do about Gwendolyn. The last time he had broached the subject of what she was looking for at Kingsman and what her future plans were, he suddenly found himself talking about the details of her next mission he had set up in Portugal. She could skilfully divert almost any conversation in the direction of her choice. It was both charming and exasperating. He was charmed at her skill and exasperated that even he could not resist swerving the conversation in her direction.

She seemed to be wary of any thing that committed her to the future. Not with her work. As an agent, her best work was in planning. But, rather in her personal life. On the occasions that it had come up in conversation, she elegantly avoided talking about her future, what she had planned, what she wanted, or if she had goals for the following years. Most Kingsman were upwardly mobile, looking for advancement. They were ambitious and had designs, targets, aspirations. Whereas Gwendolyn seemed to have little concern for what lay in her future besides the next mission. Harry didn’t know if it was so much living in the present or avoiding future disappointment. 

His mind began to wander outside the borders of propriety. The way she looked on the evening they shared in the Kingsman’s lounge took residence in his head. Innocent and seductive simultaneously. Naive yet lustful. It seemed to take up physical space. Moving thoughts aside to make room to stay in the forefront. He desired her. Intensely. She was a study in contradictions. At first glance she seemed like a sweet, lovely young lady. But as he knew first hand she was a skilled operative, an expert in weaponry and tactics, marksmanship, with the ability to think on her feet and engage in even the most unlikely scenarios. Her ability to disengage her emotions in the field would be a stark contrast to her thoughtfulness and kindness in her everyday interactions. Usually reserved and reticent, she could be so direct at times, so forward, that it was unnerving. 

He often recalled that night during the times he could not will his arousal away. Rather than satisfying him physically, it seemed to stoke his need for more. Would it ever happen again? Or was it simply a curiosity, an amusing thrill for her that was now satisfied.

He was sitting in his office, long after the other Kingsman agents had gone home, contemplating just that, when she appeared in his doorway.

\------

“I was just finishing up.” She help up her last field report. “I emailed you the file. But here’s a printed copy in case you need it.”

Harry held out his hand. Gwendolyn walked across the rug, her heels slightly sinking into the nape and passed the papers across his desk. She wasn’t wearing a Kingsman suit, but she looked very Kingsman nonetheless. The hem of a dark blue and green tartan kilt brushed her legs, the pleats ending just above her knees.She had matched this with a navy velvet blazer with grosgrain trim, a ruffled white blouse and black court shoes. A navy ribbon was tied around her neck in a small bow, the long ends falling along the front of her blouse. And matching black knee high stockings that he chose to ignore. Her long black hair was done in waves, gathered and pinned at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was, as usual, undetectable, except for a wash of color on her lips. A soft rose red.

He reached for the papers and felt a moment of friction when their fingers grazed. Had she felt the same? He thanked her and set them aside on top of the ever growing stack of reports on the edge of his desk that had foundresidence there ever since he had taken over as a temporary Arthur.

He gestured toward the comfortable deep chestnut leather upholstered arm chairs in front of his desk.

“Please, take a seat.”

She walked around to the chair on her right, tucked her kilt under her as not to wrinkle it and sat properly, but comfortably. She smoothed down the front of her blazer. Knees together and slanted to one side, simultaneously elegant and demure.Her hands were folded lightly over her thighs. She sat up straight with her shoulders back and a firm set to her chin. It reminded him of how she looked that first night, when she was recounting her story.

She looked at him with another one of her inscrutable expressions. Of no significance or consequence. Her face was pleasant, attentive, but revealed absolutely nothing. She could be in her head committing murder or rescuing kittens. She had it down to an art form. She was waiting for him to speak first.

He sighed inwardly. Now that she was here and he had her attention, she had no legitimate reason to leave as this meeting was scheduled in advance and she had nowhere else to be.

“How are you feeling?”

He kept the question purposely vague. Left it open for her to interpret as she would like. He was curious to see what direction she was going to take her answer. All of a sudden, the sight of her, prim and proper in her kilt and blouse, aroused him. He felt himself stir and he adjusted his position accordingly.

“How so?” she asked.

Harry gestured with his hand, palm up and swept it toward her. The floor is yours.

——

She sighed to herself. She was pleased to be seeing him this evening. She had even dressed specifically in the demure, ladylike, but still alluring style that she knew he preferred. Especially with the other agents mostly gone, she would have him without interruption. Often, during meetings in his office, a knock on the door would interrupt them and distract her from whatever part of Harry she decided to concentrate on for that meeting. Whether it be his hands, his eyes, or even the dimples that would appear when he did his half smile of pressing his lips together with amusement. She had once even spent a full hour staring at his forearms, and imagining she could feel them under the wool of his suit. She had purposely scheduled her review for the end of the day, hoping they could have some time without her concentration being broken every five minutes. Maybe even share a drink. Though she hadn’t had a drink with him since the night she tried to play a game of eye contact with him and he played with her, an entirely different game altogether.

Everyone seemed to want to know what she wanted for the future. She would prefer in the future that they stop asking her this question. Plans were an indulgence she had no patience for. She had absolutely no desire to voice a want or a need that she had no control over. Why did everyone seem to insist that she define everything in her life? Define her role, her place in Kingsman. Was she here indefinitely? Define her work. Was she a field agent or was she tech support? Why didn’t she have to wear the Kingsman suit if she didn’t want to. Define her past. And an evening in which she had hoped would include some harmless flirting and maybe staring at his mouth, was now turning into a discussion about her feelings.

Why couldn’t she just do her work and let it be that? She was an exceptional agent and handler. She took after her father when it came to tech support. She had the skills to perform many roles. They couldn’t accept that she had no plans.She had but one goal, one mission, and she completed it. To get to Kingsman London and take her father’s place. Well, two, if she was being honest. Second, to meet her father’s friend and colleague, Harry Hart. That made two things that she planned and had accomplished.

She was mostly content ensconced in the daily grind that was life as a Kingsman agent. And she had Harry Hart when she wanted someone to share company with. If she was feeling a little more amorous, she was more than satisfied imagining being with him, but only when she was alone in the privacy of her own bed. After he had watched her pretty much imagine herself to climax while he played with his scotch glass like it was her, anything more than the most harmless flirtation, threw her off kilter.

She wasn’t quite sure if this evening would qualify as flirting. It seemed to feature a lot of talking. Perhaps this was Harry’s way of flirting. It was quite exasperating. He was really the only person she felt a natural connection with. She didn’t want things to be awkward with him. That other evening definitely fell into the awkward territory. Apparently, her father had also been the same, Not with the awkwardness, the “able to tolerate” part. Otherwise, she was more than happy to let fate lead her where ever it wanted to.

In the meantime, she was satisfied with her work. Now even Harry was asking her to define her feelings. Under the guise of a review. But she knew that he wouldn’t ask an open ended question during a meeting with an agent. Not when he had five more agents waiting in line for their turn. Questions that could be interpreted in many ways were inefficient. She had the feeling he was asking her on a personal, “I’m concerned about you,” Harry level. Not an Arthur, “so let’s get this over with,” supervisor level. She decided to skirt around the subject until she could guide the conversation to a more comfortable place. Preferably over a drink.

“You don’t have to worry about me, sir.”She equivocated.

“I know that.” He replied. He felt himself stir again when she addressed him as sir . “However, you didn’t answer my question.”

Because ‘how I feel’ is irrelevant, she thought. Instead she said.

“I feel like a drink.” That was easy, she thought. She neatly stood up and walked over to his small bar with the crystal decanter of scotch.

“May I pour you one?”

“I appreciate you offering me my own scotch.” He said with slight sigh. “And that was a very weak diversionary tactic.”

“First of all, I asked whether I could “pour” you a scotch. There is a difference.”

Without a reply from him, she splashed a finger’s worth in a second glass. Walking over toward him, she passed it over the desk as well. Her agitation at being questioned when all she wanted to do was listen to him talk so she could stare at his mouth was making her bristle.

“Second of all,” She clinked her glass against his and then raised her drink. “It worked. It got the job done. Here’s to feeling like a drink.” She took a sip.

“This would be the actual diversionary tactic.” She sat against the arm of one of the chairs. Lightly perched on top she said, 

“The last time we shared a scotch was when you were schooling me on the finer points of the art of seduction.”

She felt awkward about the whole episode and she dealt with awkwardness by trying to make the situation more awkward for the offending party. Or in tradecraft terms, Detecting Threats and Preemptively Engaging Attacks.

“How did that make you feel?”

Hmmmm. Harry thought. She was walking a fine line, hoping that if he followed, she could throw him off balance and then direct the conversation toward a topic of her choosing.A good way to hide one’s emotions was by making one’s opponent experience stronger ones. If she believed this train of thought would derail him, then it most likely had her flustered as well. So apparently, it had been on her mind, too.

Harry seemed to be deciding something in his mind. She could see him turning something over, pausing, and turning it over. She took another sip of her drink and waited for him to speak.

She admitted that she was being unnecessarily difficult. He probably had a long day after the back to back reviews. He was simply showing concern. She enjoyed spending time with him and would usually look forward to meetings where she could be alone with him. Maybe she was frustrated. She didn’t want to say anything that would jeopardise their relationship, friendship, or whatever he wanted to call it. She just saw them as two people who enjoyed each other’s company in whatever way they wanted to.

His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, a micro expression that said he was looking at something he had been trying to make sense of and finally had. The look added on a firm set to his jaw.

“It would be in our best interest if you locked the door.”

It was a statement. Not posed as a question. She wasn’t sure what to make of this voice. Firm, decisive, a little demanding, a little authoritative. It sounded vaguely familiar. Under different circumstances, she would have automatically asked “Why?” But this evening was filled with little pockets of uncertainty. He was changing her game again. He was seeing her diversionary tactic and raising it, but to what?

For a spy, a room with even just one other person turned it into a potential event. An event was a scenario in which the occurrences could be manipulated or influenced for the agent’s own agenda. This was suddenly feeling like an event. The question was, should she engage? She had been trying to divert him so she wouldn’t have to discuss her feelings or why she didn’t have anything planned for her future. Now he was countering her diversion, but in an unknown direction.

If he just wanted to circle back to the review, it would have been an exasperated, “For goodness sake, Gwendolyn. You have your tipple. Now sit your arse down and answer my bloody questions.”

Whenever she was caught off guard, she always reverted back, _remember your training_.

\-----

“ _Reading a room_ ” in the spy world was deliberately observing a room to understand the overall emotions and thoughts of the persons in it, i.e. herself and Harry. Her assessment would help her calculate the best method of engagement of the situation in said room, i.e. what was turning into a bizarre agent review session. The art of awareness was the understanding group dynamics in small, confined spaces, i.e. Harry’s office, which was actually quite roomy and well appointed. On-the-fly situational judgments and character assessments from mere moments of observation and interaction. The goal to obtain actionable intel. He was just trying to prove that his diversionary tactic was much more effective than hers. It worked. Now she just felt awkward and uncomfortable. 

The problem of using strategy to read the room? It was only Harry Hart. And Harry Hart was impossible to read.

 _Avoid engagement in unknown situations_ , she thought. The energy of the room had shifted and she didn’t know what to make of it yet. She pushed off her chair and walked over to the large wooden door. She would play along. She didn’t want to disturb the air by stirring it with further misdirection.

The door was like an anchor, a tether that kept her grounded. A single point of focus she could concentrate on rather than speculating on all the reasons why Harry would ask her to lock the door. Why didn’t he just lock it. Why did he want it locked in the first place. Why did he phrase it “in our best interest”? She need to stop with all the questions, and just act until she had a clearer idea of what Harry was up to.

It was frustrating. She could analyze a life and death situation, narrow down the problem, decide on a course of action, engage with the enemy all under direct threat and then act without hesitation. When she tried that with Harry, aside from the first night they met, she kept on slipping down the rabbit hole of “what if’s”.

 _Just focus on the door_ , she thought. The door was carved with an intricate design along the edges. Hmmm. She had never noticed it all the times passing in and out of Harry’s office.Taking much longer than any spy needs to lock a door, she turned the brass knob above the handle to the right. It made a little click as the locking mechanism fell into place. The tiny sound seemed to echo through the quiet air. Without knowing why, she slid the bolt into place as well.

Could it be possible he was actually upset that she kept disregarding his concern? The last thing she wanted to do was upset Harry. She had always been able to veer around answering his questions if she didn’t feel like the question was a necessity. He had been so tolerant with her episodes of obstinancy. Had she pushed his patience too far? Was he going to scold her in private? Disappointed Harry was worse than upset Harry.

After Harry heard the bolt lock into place, he continued.

“Come over here. Please.”

Though the words were polite, the tone indicated that it was not a request. He spoke with a new inflection. His words carried a note that others most likely would miss. But she had been getting better at discerning the different shades of his voice.

She pressed her lips together. Before she turned around, she wanted to find the right expression. None of them fit. She composed herself the best she could, took a few deep breaths and relaxed her shoulders. She relieved Harry the trouble and scolded herself lightly. They went through so much classified information in this office, she was surprised it wasn’t a vault. Harry was just going to go over sensitive information and needed privacy with no risk of interruption. Whatever she was feeling was just her, not Harry.

Or most likely, she was going to turn around after spending all this time analysing the situation, he was going to smile and say.

_Now that is what I would call an effective diversionary tactic._

That would be such a classic Harry Hart thing to do. Believing herself to be more presentable, she turned around and what she saw startled her to the extent that she dropped the small handful of confidence she was able to collect. 

\-----

Harry was in his white dress shirt and was in the process of rolling up his sleeves. His jacket, set aside on a hanger so as not to wrinkle, hung from a hook on the wall behind him. He was just in the middle of removing his set of gold cufflinks. One of his sleeves was already open at the wrist. The link was sitting on the desk in front of him. After he freed the second link, he picked up the first one and placed them both in a small silver tray. Whose only purpose might be, she thought, to make sure his cufflinks were safe and never separated.

Now this was unexpected. _Don’t disturb the air. Determine the before you engage_. She talked herself through the walk from the door toward his desk. She paused at the two chairs with a question. He tilted his head in his direction. All the way, it said. He was rolling up one sleeve as she walked.

As she stepped around, he rose from his chair. She met him on his side of the desk. She realised she’d never been in this proximity to Harry in his office. In this space. His space. He was always behind the desk. Agents sat in a chair. Without fail it was business. Always Kingsman.

She stood in front of him as he rolled up his other sleeve. This was as relaxed, “unclothed” as she had ever seen him on Kingsman property. The most relaxed anyone saw him was without his suit coat. _Oh, for fucks sake_. He still had his leather shoulder holster on. With a gun in the sheath.

She was slightly unsure, hesitant, watchful. It was rare that she stood so close to him without a legitimate reason, like reaching behind him for more ammunition on Kingsman’s shooting range. Or trying to tip toe for a book at the HQ library, only to have him appear at her side to reach it for her. Personal space didn’t exist in the field when not being seen was a life or death scenario. More than once had they been squeezed together in extremely tight spots. But there has always been a reason. A legitimate and proper reason.

Here, he was just looking at her. She didn’t try to hold his gaze this time, but she didn’t shy away from making eye contact.I know what that leads to, she thought. Damn her for bringing it up. She let her eyes move where ever they felt like. And they ran up and down the length of Harry Hart.All of a sudden, she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“I would like…” he took an undefinable pause. He was deciding on something. Contemplating an idea. He was making a choice. It was as if he needed to complete the thought in his head before he spoke out loud.

He started again, with assurance.

“I would like to bend you over my desk.”

——

_She nearly choked._

If she had been drinking, she most definitely would have choked. She almost choked anyway.

 _What the fuck_? Of all of the words that could have come out of his mouth, “ _I would like to bend you over my desk_ ” had to top the very top of the least likely list. She was completely and utterly caught off guard. A rare sensation for her. She had no trained reaction she could fall back on in this scenario. Her resting heart rate took off at a sprint. A heated flush rushed up to her cheeks. She suddenly doubted herself. Was that really what he said? Or did she just hear him wrong. Did he forget to finish his sentence?

Didn’t he really say, “ _I would like to bend you over my desk so I can use your body as a unit of measurement to determine the distance from one edge of my desk to the other_?

It would have been no less bizarre a request.

Yes, of course she had imagined what it would be like to be with him. What he would do to her, what would he feel like. How he would take her. How could any woman not? He was Harry Hart. But as she knew, shooting under live enemy fire was much different than practice shooting at the range. While she wasn’t under any danger, her body’s response was the same as when she was on her first real mission. It was her fight or flight response. Her automatic physical response to a perceived threat that activated her sympathetic nervous system and triggered an acute stress response that prepared her to fight or flee.

She knew exactly how the fight or flight response worked on a physical level. In this case, Harry was the perceived threat, the catalyst. Upon hearing his command, a sudden rush of hormones began a chain reaction causing the release of adrenaline, which increased her heart rate, blood pressure and breathing rate. It was also however, very similar what the physical body experienced when sexually aroused. At the present moment, she wasn’t sure if she could tell the difference. Not that it mattered. It had the same effect in the end.

She wanted to add a third response, fight, flight, or freeze. She was trained to fight anytime her fight or flight response was activated without hesitation. She knew how to engage with an enemy, depending on the circumstances of the fight. Was it hand to hand combat, a fire fight, urban warfare? She could handle that.She did not have any training scenario that instructed her on how to engage with Harry Hart when he asked, no, scratch that, when he commanded that she bend over his desk. None whatsoever. Absolutely nothing. She was out on a limb, swinging on all the tiny branches.

The dots were refusing to connect. She was having a very hard time linking the statement she just heard, to the man who said it, to the action it led to. And she was shivering all over. She tried to stop it, but couldn’t and she was very, very anxious about it. Now she knew why earlier she thought that his tone sounded familiar. It was the voice of the man that had sat across from her one evening in the club. Playing what she thought was a silly game of wills. He had a glass of scotch in his hand then, too. He hadn’t said a word during that episode, but if he had, she knew that this is what it he would’ve sounded like. It was Harry’s voice, deep, smooth, powerful, but with an added layer and additional edge.It was the voice of a man who was going to have sex with her. _Statement._

 _THIS_. She remembered. _THIS_ was how he felt that night. He was Harry, but more. Harder, more intense, demanding. And completely assured. And aroused. She was feeling dizzy and trembly as well as anxious now.

 _Fuck. Scratch that. Holy fucking fuck. Fuck._ She added a final one for emphasis. _Fuck._

The image, let alone the thought, of her bent over Harry Hart’s desk, him behind her, being taken by Harry Hart, completely rearranged her mind. Nothing was connecting. She, who could control nearly every emotion and resulting physical reaction out on the field, was helpless in his presence. Her imagination could only get as far as being bent over Harry’s desk and then her mind would short circuit.

His mouth was moving. _Oh, God,_ she thought. _What is he saying now_?

She tried very hard to concentrate on his words, but she was vibrating and didn’t know if his words would land.

“But first,” He said, “I am going to kiss you.” He was looking down at her, curious and amused. “That is, unless you object.”

Her head shook from side to side without any direction from her.Why would she object? He was only the most perfect, charming gentleman spy and the hottest mentor that she had ever had who was equal parts devastatingly handsome and achingly sexy.

“I can’t hear that.”

 _What?_ She thought. Her head shook again before she had the wherewithal to speak out loud.

“I don’t object.” she returned with much more confidence than she felt.

 _Ohmygod, I am going to be kissed by Harry Hart._ The phrase repeated on a quick loop in her head.

No, she thought, there was nothing that could have prepared her for this as she short circuited again.

——

Harry Hart could tell that nervousness was not usual for her and ascribed her anxiety to both the surprise of the situation and the way it was presented.

He knew that he was to blame for all of that. He had arranged it purposely to do so. His intent was to catch her off guard. Not only off guard, but completely unexpected and totally unprepared. Having your mentor request that you bend over his desk, in his office, in his place of work, was not high on the list of things you expect to happen during an employee review. Especially if your relationship up to that point had been exclusively mentor and colleague. Her bewilderment would prevent her analytical mind from automatically activating and analysing the situation.

She was a secret agent, with work and life experience that could overwhelm a hundred people, let alone one. Her background was steeped in risk, loss, danger, and uncertainty. She had the grit to handle all that life had delivered and come out on the other side. She had the physical control to reduce the effects of shock. It was part her natural resilience, her capacity to adapt, and her training, that conditioned her to act under the most unlikely scenarios.

Part of the exhilaration, frisson, and the charge of being intimate with a new partner was the aspect of the unknown. And if that unknown was unexpected or even slightly shocking, it could elevate the experience. He was certain that a fine dinner and a return back to his flat for an evening of lovemaking would be lovely. But he didn’t want lovely for this evening. There was plenty of time for lovely. One had only a single chance for an unforgettable first time.

He did not know how sexually experienced she was, but from observation he suspected that her experience was not very extensive. First of all, she didn’t seem like the type of person who sought esteem or worth through being sexually desirable or one who found validation through sex. She also didn’t seem like a woman who would find pleasure in sleeping with random people to fulfil a purely physical desire.

All agents could take care of themselves if they found themselves needing physical release for one reason or another. For male agents, he knew that it was an excellent way to fall asleep quickly in the field where every second wasted may be the difference between a successful mission and a failed one. She would have to find her partner interesting and attractive and desirable in some way, or else she would not find the experience pleasurable. Judging from how many people she kept company with, or how little, her standards were very high.

One-night stands were possible. Agents also had a way of charming a person for only a night or an evening. If the chemistry was strong enough, agents most definitely could organise encounters on the side. In his experience, a one night stand was fairly similar to the one before it and the one after it. It didn’t give one enough time to delve into the desires of the other person. Most often, it was a way to find some temporary pleasure and company, if company was even desired. One night stand sex was fairly predictable, making sure whatever technique, position, location had the greatest chance of pleasing both parties, which often were the most standard. 

Rarely, if ever, did an agent find someone who they connected with so strongly, intensely and quickly that they could trust them to explore more intimate sexual pleasures.

He found it amusing. Most of Kingsman would be shocked if they knew of his, at times, unconventional views on sex. Gwendolyn obviously was. He enjoyed exploring outside the box in life and in work. Sex was no exception. If both parties were not only in agreement, but in tune and in a space of trust, there was a freedom to be experienced in sex, and there was little he would be opposed to trying with the right partner. But one did not build that brand of trust in a single encounter. It took knowing the other individual on an extremely personal, extremely intimate level.

No agent wanted to seem or feel vulnerable, but to Harry, that was the exhilaration of good sex. It was the only place he would allow himself to feel vulnerable. Vulnerable meant being exposed, open and sensitive. And if that didn’t describe sex, he didn’t know what did. If you knew the fears and desires of a person who was capable of being vulnerable, then the pleasure you could provide them would be unlimited. The most important factor was trust. Something that spies were notoriously bad at. Both at gaining and giving.

He was very attracted to her, sexually and personally. She was equal parts alluring, and seductive, but without effort. She fascinated him. People rarely did. But most of all, as a man who valued his private time and personal space, he found that he sought out her company whenever he had an opportunity. That behaviour was telling. He could picture her in his space, without it feeling like an intrusion. Typically, whenever he had company, no matter how much he may be enjoying himself, there would always be that moment in the evening where he wished his space was his own again.

It felt like she could just be. Be in his space and he would not be bothered by it. Not that she could easily be ignored. The point wasn’t to feel like she wasn’t there at all. It was recognising her presence and not having to feel any kind of demand or expectation for him to do something different or be someone different. Basically, that he could be himself. He could imagine sitting in his favourite chair in his flat, a fine old leather piece, well made, that had held up for years and still had many more years left. He would be reading a book or a newspaper. She would be quite relaxed on the floor with a pile of pillows as that was how she preferred to rest, but near his chair. Close enough where she could bracelet his ankle with her hand, the other hand holding her own book or more likely her smart phone. Close enough where if he let his hand fall over the side of his chair, that he could touch her hair, or cheek and perhaps find her hand brushing against his. Simple touches, not requesting more, not requiring more than just acknowledging the existence of the other person. Companionship. Something he never had truly experienced before.

He sensed this was possible the evening of her little battle of the wills. Well, prior the seduction portion of the evening. She was perfectly comfortable and natural being seated together in silence. He was fairly sure that she had not even spoken a word, though she had communicated much during the time they had shared.

Which was another reason he determined that she had limited sexual experience, but was very sexually open in the right circumstance. That evening helped him decide how he would approach her, how to initiate their engagement, so to speak.

Her surprise when he lifted the challenge up to its proper level suggested that she was fairly new to the game of seduction, or at least in the actual physical practice of the game. He was quite sure she was attracted to him. But most of all, was her willingness to be controlled and allowing him the freedom to control her. That said trust to him. Her reaction betrayed her surprise, but also her desire and her enthusiasm, if not eagerness for the experience. And also, the evidence of her enjoyment that merely the idea of being controlled by Harry, aroused her.

He suspected that she had some slight D/s tendencies, even if she did not consciously recognise it. D/s could be misinterpreted, and often was, but dominance and submission was not exclusively about inflicting or enjoying pain. It was not akin to degradation or humiliation. But it did revolve around humility, or being humble, which was a different affair all together. It was centred on being pleasing ,and thus, giving pleasure and receiving pleasure. If that included pain, well then, it was a mutual understanding. If a man treated a woman well, with respect, if he honoured her and treasured her, there would be little she wouldn’t do to please him. What many people didn’t realise is that the man didn’t choose the woman in D/s relationships, the woman chose the man based on his worthiness.

That encounter led him to believe, as little experience as she may have had, her willingness to stay with the challenge, which some may, feeling embarrassed, would have halted, that she was extreme in ways that she might not recognise. She was certainly extreme in most other aspects of her life. And also, that she had enjoyed herself immensely when faced with an unexpected scenario that surprised her and she was unprepared for. He thought that may have even heightened her response.

The key was, if she was vulnerable, she would be open to receive all of the pleasure he knew he could give her. And seeing her pleasure would be pleasing to him as well.

She may find the situation that he arranged for their first time together extreme and unorthodox, unusual. Her preconceived notions of sex may tell her that this was improper or strange or inappropriate, but he knew, ultimately, that if she allowed him, he could pleasure her in ways that she didn’t even know existed. Just the thought of it aroused him.

He only need to catch her before she was able to put her guard up and behave and react in the way she thought she should, not the way she wanted to. He wanted her to react on a purely instinctual, visceral level. This was one scenario where analysis would work against her, not for her.

He placed his hands to the sides of her face, ever so gently, barely touching, passing smoothly over her features. He could sense the slightest tremor through her entire body. She was still responding on a physical level, not an intellectual one. He didn’t want to give her a chance to think herself out of this situation, so he leaned down and kissed her in the way he wanted to, and in a way he knew she would enjoy.

——

 _Your knees really do go weak_ , she thought. With one small step, Harry entered her space. Sexy and commanding in his shirt and shoulder holster. He seemed larger than she remembered. He positively towered over her. Her eyes could not meet his gaze but she knew that he was looking down at her.He lifted his hands to her face. Each palm cupped the curve of her jaw, lightly, tenderly, almost touching her, but not quite. The warmth of his hands and the heat from her cheeks closed the distance between them. Her skin burned and tingled in anticipation.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she held back a sound that was part sigh, part moan when she felt Harry’s gentle yet firm hands caress her face. His palms, fingertips, knuckles, the back of his hands, traveled every curve and hollow as if memorising her features through touch. He explored her lips, very slowly brushing across her cupids bow with his thumb, barely touching. Gwendolyn couldn't help herself. She parted her lips, her tongue instinctively trying to making contact, before he lightly glided over the soft skin of her cheek.

The wait was excruciating. _Harry Hart was going to kiss her. She was going to be kissed Harry Hart._ That was her last thought as he bent down and brushed her lips with his own in the most tender of kisses. The contact was soft and warm.

That slightest touch made a shudder run through her body. His hands still gently braced the sides of her face. His hold was exquisite. The anticipation was devastating. His lips parted and his tongue began to press against her with a soft but firm insistence and her mouth opened to him. The woodsy, smokey, slightly sweet taste of scotch still lingered as he kissed more deeply, slowly swirling his tongue around hers. He knew, very well, what he was doing.

Sensation flowed through her entire body, pulses of pleasure reaching every inch of her, prickling her skin. Thousands of synapses were sending messages from Harry’s mouth to hers. They traveled to her brain, which translated her desire in a language her physical body could understand and shot the directive to every last nerve ending.Hundreds of thousands of electrical connections manifested as lust, as longing, as need. She felt her muscles twitch involuntarily. For this man, she thought, and this man alone. _For Harry Hart._

He only had his mouth on hers, his hands on her face and she felt consumed by him. Overwhelmed by him. One of his hands traveled to the nape of her neck and nested his fingers within the twist of hair that was gathered and pinned there. His other hand traveled down her side and pressed into the curve of her waist. Her neck was gently but insistently bent backward. Gwendolyn’s breath caught in her throat. Harry demanded more and she yielded to him, letting his mouth claim hers. His grip tightened, her scalp prickled, but it wasn’t painful. It was just persistent. The room seemed to be spinning in slow motion. She felt herself begin to melt into him.A shudder ran through her body.

Gwendolyn’s resolve was demolished as his lips crushed hers. She relinquished herself over to him. With a single heady kiss, her self-control was washed away in a flood of passion.

When at last the kiss ended, Gwendolyn’s breath was heavy, her head light, her body trembling. Opening her eyes, time stood still. Gwendolyn saw the corners of his mouth slowly turn into a smile.

She realised their faces were just inches apart. Harry’s golden brown eyes reflected the dim light of his office.They journeyed along the curves and angles of her face and stopped until she dared to look up and meet him. The warm intensity of his gaze made her heart pound in her chest. Pulsating anxiety mixed with devastating pleasure.

Seconds, minutes, passed as time meant nothing to her. She still didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her hands had hung by her side as if her brain was too occupied with what was happening to her mouth, it didn’t have the capacity to consider what any other part of her should be doing.She was still afraid to touch him, as if the slightest contact might sear her like dry kindling ready to go up in flames.

As he pulled his face away, his hands were still in place.

“I believe it’s your turn.”

He took her wrists, raised her hands to his face and laid them gently on his skin. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Gwendolyn’s heart was pounding in her chest as she caressed his face as gently as she could. She trailed her trembling fingertips along his strong jaw, down his neck, feeling the beat of his pulse. He was warm. And masculine. Hard muscle under smooth skin. Back up she traversed, tracing his cheekbones, his brow and the wide planes of his forehead. She passed lightly over the sides of his face, his hair with the distinguished waves of silver mixed with the light auburn brown. She lowered her hands to his chest, with only her fingertips touching his shirt.

He opened his eyes, staring at her and smiling softly. He reached up and took her hands in both of his. She swallowed again but it was no use. Her mouth was completely dry. She couldn't have spoken even if she knew what to say.

“Now, you may think that door is locked,” he nodded in its direction, “to keep you from leaving. It is not. It’s merely for privacy. You are not bound here by me, nor by anyone else. I want you to be here, because you want to be here. I may have initiated this meeting, but it’s both of us that are needed, consciously, and voluntarily for it to be worthwhile.

“You may stay, or you may leave. I cannot say that I won’t be disappointed, but that is only because you are exquisite, and I want you. But my physical needs are not of your concern if you leave. I have stated as clearly as I can, what this evening will entail. There are no repercussions if you chose to leave. There may be another opportunity at a different time. But do not let the future influence what you decide at this moment” his gaze softened in understanding. “Is that not what you believe?”

One of his hands released hers. He reached up to touch her face again. Simultaneously, there was a hardness and a softness in his eyes that was riveting. Arresting. It took her breath away. And when he spoke, his words were all that mattered. His voice dropped, low and intense.

"There is much I want to show you, to tell you, and to _be_ for you. And there is much I want _you_ to be for _me_.But that is not up to me. For you, there will always be a choice. So I will ask you now. Would you like to leave? Or would you like to stay.” He added, “And be with me.”

To Gwendolyn, there was no question. This man, always smart in his suit and tie, freshly shaven, …always a gentleman.His thoughtfulness, his patience and his nature, a kindness that was at the same time gentle and firm... His face, his eyes, his hands strong and capable. His intelligence, dedication, his passion...

It all added up. The answer was obvious.

“I would like to stay. And be with you.”

She felt the strength of his arms, arms that had already been around her for so many different reasons, envelop her now for only one reason. Allowing herself to finally be close to him, she eased herself against him, laying her cheek against his chest. She closed her eyes. She could hear and feel the beating of his heart. It relieved her when it sounded almost as quick as hers. He was affected, too.He leaned down a little, brushing his cheek lightly against her forehead. Her inhalations carried the scent of his cologne, blended with whatever was essentially him and it was intoxicating. She wrapped her own arms around his torso and she could feel his strength through his familiar white dress shirt.

Harry never failed to amaze and surprise her. She knew that there was more to Harry Hart than the Agent Galahad he presented to the world. She simply hadn't expected the _intensity_ of all of who he was. There was always an undercurrent of harmless flirting. As it was, the Kingsman agents were already uncomfortably close and personal with each other, a little too much for her tastes at times. Other than the evening that she attempted to challenge him to a staring contest, which turned into something quite different, nothing of her experience with him could have prepared her for the Harry Hart she was witnessing this evening.

He was always considerate, proper, polite. A true gentleman. But he was still being a gentleman, she thought, even under these unusual circumstances. Just an extremely forward and sexy one.She could only judge his actions according to how it made her feel. And so far, everything that he had said and done hadn’t made her want to run out of the room. His words and his actions caused a surge of electricity that flooded her senses, waking every urge, every need, every desire within her.

 _He was still Harry Hart_. He was still a man of integrity. He was just more. But it was so much more he was almost completely different. While Agent Galahad made her feel protected and safe, this Harry made her feel exhilarated in a way that was both thrilling and dangerous. But looking up at him, the familiar benevolence was still there. She could see it in the brown eyes that were staring back at her. Strangely, in spite of the torrent of passion brewing, Gwendolyn felt secure with him. He would look after her. Like he always did. She would let him take the lead.

Harry continued talking to her almost the entire time, explain things so she wouldn’t have to guess. Telling her how he felt and what he thought. In her delirious state she listened to him as if she were in in a waking dream. Aware of everything going on around her, but not being able to react.

He took her hands again and guided her over to the desk. Her heart began to race. She knew he could feel the shaking in her fingertips. He led her over and first slightly lifted her so she was sitting on the desk, facing him so she could see him as he spoke.

“Regarding the desk. Not as conventional, I must admit, especially for our first time together. But I determined this to be the position that you would enjoy the most and receive the most pleasure. Not that other positions aren’t pleasurable, but I chose this purposefully for you.”

She looked confused.

“I should explain. Please be assured that I will no doubt, find all the ways we will be together, as thrilling as this. Though one must admit, the view, from my perspective lends a certain charm.Perhaps you think it’s a little impersonal. Not being face to face. I do realise that eye contact adds a bit of intensity to the act. Not to worry.”

He tipped his chin toward the far side of the room.

She turned her head. _Fuck._ She had forgotten about the mirror next to the door. As exacting that the Kingsman suits were, there was a full length mirror placed next to every door of every office so every agent could make sure he or she was presentable before representing their organisation.

She turned back to face him.

“I will be able to see you, darling. As you will be able to see me. You will also be able to see yourself. And you will also be able to see me watching you. The possibilities are quite endless. I have the suspicion that this is something you will take pleasure in.”

 _Now this was just too much_ , she thought. When Harry Hart did something, she had to admit, he sure made it memorable.

Every time she thought that the standard had been set and the situation could not possibly become more intense, something would happen and Harry would level up. She wasn’t sure if she could go up that high. Harry seemed to breathe rare air. He must be breathing something else up where he stood.

He called for her attention.

“This evening should be less talking and more doing. But I want to emphasise that we will be communicating the entire time. I will be watching you, making sure you are ok, that you are enjoying yourself and also looking for ways to pleasure you even more.”

“Do not hide your reactions for fear of judgement or pretend to feel something that you don’t because of expectations you may think I have or that you have for yourself. If you find that you hate what I do with you, you will know right away, and I will know right away.”

He placed her hands on top of her lap and placed his palms on the backs of her hands. He was caressing them reassuringly.

“Now I didn’t select this by random. After observing you for many months, watching your behaviour, listening to you speak, the way you approach your work. And our little encounter in the lounge told me that you would respond more intensely, more physically, more emotionally to a situation that pushed you, that challenged you, that was unexpected. If I was able to catch you unawares, you would be more willing to let yourself explore your own needs and desires.”

Harry was very frank and honest with her.

“Do not fake, do not pretend. You will not be hurting my feelings or offending my manhood or abilities as a lover. I am more than secure in that regard. For some women, no matter how much they may enjoy being taken in this position, they are not able to climax.If we find that to be the case, I will be able to tell andI’ll move you in ways you will find more satisfying. If it so happens that release isn’t in the cards this evening... I am also aware that the female orgasm is much more complex than ours. But I am sure we will both enjoy trying and perhaps allow me to opportunity to enhance my repertoire.”

She highly doubted that would be the case, but she was impressed that he was comfortable and at ease enough to bring up a topic that would make most men cringe.

“Also, as I female agent, I understand you are on birth control.”

She nodded. The last thing a female agent needed to be surprised with on the field was her period.

“Being that all Kingsman’s reviews are preceded by a complete physical, I know that I pose no risk to you. Are you the same?”

She nodded again.

“Lastly, that doesn’t mean that you want to be unprotected. I have means here available. I will let it be your choice. A man should be pleased, either way, that it is happening at all. Do you require additional protection?”

She smiled and this time, shook her head.

“This is not me, having you in the way that I want. It is us, being together in a way that enhances the experience, for both of us. One doesn’t work without the other.”

“Do you have any questions that I haven’t addressed? I understand that these are not the most romantic of topics, but I’ve found that if all areas of doubt or uncertainty are handled beforehand, one has that much more freedom to enjoy the experience.”

She shook her head again.

“I want you to relax, trust yourself, and let me help you. Trust me. Trust me to guide you. Would I ever lead you wrong?” His voice was sure. Steady. Firm.

He didn’t just look at her. He saw her. He saw into her and he knew how much he could be for her. And what she could be for him.

“Is this still something you want?”

She nodded. Her nervousness and anxiety eased into something that felt less uncertain, much more natural and just as intense.All of a sudden, in her head, everything seemed completely normal. He had addressed all her concerns without even needing to be asked. He made it seem like such a reasonable request to ask her to bend over so he could take her over his desk.

“Yes.” She replied.

There was no man that she trusted, nor respected more than Harry Hart. This was just another part of the same man. And Harry Hart was the sum of all his parts

Anxious with excitement, she was less apprehensive and more eager. She had spent the majority of her life avoiding intense emotions, being in control, thinking rather than feeling and it had served her well as an agent, and she thought, in the rest of her life. But here he was, telling her to let go, to feel, to be vulnerable, everything that she had been trained to resist. Even just the idea of being with Harry set her heart pounding, let alone over his desk. It felt thrilling and dangerous and foreign, but she had to admit she had imagined similar scenarios in her head. But she thought them to be fantasy. He was right though. She really had no defence. When she was stripped away of all her uncertainties, as Harry had done, this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

All her misgivings were becoming undone, the knot of doubt and uncertainty in her core, slowly coming untied. Its grip loosened by Harry’s considerate words, his understanding gaze, his warm touch, the press of his lips, his strong hands, by his entire being.

She would follow his lead.

—-

He sensed that she was gathering her thoughts. When she looked up at him, she took a deep breath in and a long breath out. Her energy, though still prickling with anticipation was more settled, less scattered. It hold him she was fully present and she was ready. She was looking to him for guidance.

He would take things slowly, with ease and patience. Always aware of his responsibility, not only as a mentor, outside of this space, but as a protector, here, together. He was asking her to expose all that she was, both physically and emotionally. He needed to keep her safe so she had the freedom to let herself, not lose control, but to realise and release all that she was. And the confidence in him to keep her guarded and secure.

He placed the palms of his hands under her own and helped her slide off the desk and onto her feet. With her hands still in his, he bent down and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger along her hairline breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo and the more complex notes of her perfume and that which was her. The smell was feminine, but not girlish. It was elegant and sophisticated, just as she was. With one last brush of his lips against her own, he kissed her. Pressing his cheek against her hair, he let go of her hands and placed is own about her waist, gently, but deliberately turned her to face his desk. He helped her with her jacket and hung it from a hook behind him. Then just as gently, just as firmly, with one palm between her shoulder blades and the other resting at the small of her back, pressed down on her until she bent over, first from the waist and then hinging from her hips until her entire upper body was lying on the smooth, clean surface of his polished wooden desk. She turned her head to the left, letting her right cheek rest on the wood. She let out a soft sigh.

Never one for rushing, Harry took his time. Making sure there was no hesitation. That the only tension she felt was from anticipation, from desire, and not from doubt or uncertainty.

Also, if something is worth doing, it is worth doing properly. He stepped in behind her, just barely leaning the weight of his hips into her own. He massaged away her misgivings, helping her relax and he rubbed slow circles on her lower back with the palm of his hand. His other hand reached up her spine, searched through her hair for whatever was holding it up. His fingers landed on a pin and he smoothly pulled it out, letting her hair waterfall down around her shoulders. He swept it to one side so he could see her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing, though still deep, began to slow down to match the motion of his hand.

He was going to move at her pace, only moving forward until her face, her body, her movements told him, not only that she was ready for more, but that she wanted more. His other hand remained at the nape of her neck, massaging the base of her skull more firmly, with consistent pressure, like waves rolling in and out of the sea. She began to roll her neck slightly to one side, he concentrated his movements there. When she turned her head in the opposite direction, turning her head to the right, resting on her left cheek, he worked on the other side.

The hand on her lower back moved in continuous circles, with slightly more pressure. As he was doing this, he continuously leaned a little bit more weight into her. Only by fractions. So slight she may not even be able to tell. Definitely not having her bear the full weight of his body. Simply allowing her to feel his presence behind her, but not actively pressing into her, or be close enough that she could feel his arousal. He was a patient man and he was enjoying himself thoroughly.

He would have been satisfied, well perhaps not physically, with simply massaging her all evening. Then he began to see the signs he had been waiting for. Just the slightest arch of her lower back. It moved her chest into the desk and tilted her hips toward him. He kept his movements the same. Slow and sensuous. Rhythmic. She began to roll her neck out more, gazing straight down with her forehead resting on the desk, before rolling again to the other side. Still he waited. He heard another sigh as he continued to move his hands over her. Her breath began to quicken. Then she gave him what he wanted from her. She pushed her hips back, just the smallest bit toward his pelvis, until she was arching and lifting into him, completing their contact. And her hands. When they first began, she rested her arms shoulder height, bent at the elbows, like one does when sleeping face down. Her hands were soft and relaxed. As she leaned back into him, she made little fists and drew her arms under her, so she could bear weight on her forearms, helping to push her back. And still he remained with his smooth firm circles. He wasn’t waiting for her to want him. He was waiting for her to need him.

When she actively began to seek contact by moving her hips toward him with the same circles that he was making on her lower back, he stopped and pulled away from her. But kept his palm on her back, not moving, just a firm downward pressure. Stay still. She started to lift her head and turn back, but he shushed her, murmuring words to sooth her and keep her relaxed. Her body eased back onto the desk and she stilled, though her breath remained fast and heavy.

Once she had done as she was told, he unbuttoned her kilt. Reaching underneath her, he felt for the buttons that secured her tweed kingsman tartan skirt. He felt her tense at this new progression so he spoke low and softly, how beautiful she was, how lovely she looked, to see her on his desk, that seeing her need aroused him. That she was perfect. As he spoke, he unbuttoned the two that secured the waistband. The last one that secured the overlap and lastly, unclasped the large pin that kept the kilt from blowing open. He had worn them before and was very familiar with their placement.

Not until she relaxed again, did he continue to unwrap the skirt from around her body.

“Lift your hips.”

She did so and he pulled the kilt from underneath her. She was lovely. Even more so just half unclothed was extremely arousing. Having her top half clothed only accentuated the bareness of her bottom half. He hardened at the sight of her, over his desk, half naked, simply waiting for him, allowing him to pleasure her and needing that pleasure.

His chair was already pulled out. He grabbed it by the handle and rolled it in front of her, well, behind her.

She lifted her head slightly, turning back at the sound of movement, when she saw that he meant to take a seat. Her eyes widened. He gave her a small half smile, half smirk like she gave him the night of the scotch glass. He spun his finger in a circle. Turn around. She did so, closing her eyes again and resting her cheek to one side. Understanding that was she simply to wait, she held still and quiet. There was no doubt or uncertainty on her face by this time. Only desire, only need.

He walked away for a moment to reach the rest of his scotch when he looked back toward her. The sight of her with her eyes closed, her little fists and arms still tucked toward her chest was both breathtaking in its sensuality and heartbreaking in its vulnerability and trust. Taking a swallow of his drink, he set down his glass on the desk to her side, far enough away that it wouldn’t get knocked over if things got a little too heated, but close enough for him to still reach.

She was still covered with a black lace thong, minimal but still covered and her stockings, which he no longer had to ignore. Placing one hand on her hip, he pulled the chair closer underneath him and relaxed into it. He could feel the tremor of her excitement trembling along her thighs. The tiniest shiver continuously ran up and down the length of her legs.

He was confident in his skills as a lover. Years of practice honed his technique, just as it did with the rest of his training. But he sensed that he was going to get just as much pleasure from this as she was going to receive from him.

The smooth palm of his hands ran lightly down from the tops of her hips, over her bottom and down her legs. His fingers traced a line up the inside of her legs and thighs, almost touching her center, barely, like a pulse of air, floating up the line of her backside to the top of her hips. He repeated this movement, with unlimited variations, pausing in certain areas to linger, rubbing soft circles with his thumb, palming her flesh with his entire hand. He would purposefully hover over her core, almost touching every time, but moving on before she could close the space by shifting her hips. He was pleased to find that she was more than wet. Her need left her almost dripping and pulsing as she further open her legs for him. Muscles twitching and contracting involuntary when he skimmed over a sensitive area. She was responding the way he had hoped and expected and he was pleased.

He saw that her desire for contact rise through the almost constant leaning into his touch, his hand, his fingers. He continued to layer sensation upon sensation upon sensation. He rested the side of his face against the back of her thigh. She tensed suddenly at this unexpected change, but again, he just continued to touch and caress and stroke as if nothing had changed and felt her relax back onto the desk. He felt her start again when he added his mouth, his lips, his tongue, but then immediately her surprise transformed into yet again, pulses of desire. Her small moans and sighs were coming at a regular frequency, little cries that told him she was ready for more.

He decided it was time to intensify. Grazing at her opening with the back of his knuckles, wet through the mesh of her thong, he continued to use his mouth just to the side of his hand. Concentrating the sensation to this smaller area, but not specifically giving her the contact that she ultimately desired. He kissed and tongued and sucked the flesh around her, all over, everywhere but there.

Part of the pleasure of sex was the feeling of wanting, the process of asking, begging and the anticipation of waiting, ultimately knowing that gratification will come, but the tension of not knowing when and how, enhanced the wait.

He slid his fingers under the thin waistband of her thong and with aching slowness began to pull them down her hips, over her bottom and half way down her legs, to the top of her stockings. All of her trepidation, hesitation was gone. All that was left was her desire for him. For him to have her in all the ways he wanted and imagined. She let out a stronger moan of anticipation. Her thighs pulled the tiny slip of material tight across the distance between her legs, her need to continue to spread herself wider for him kept them from falling down.

Without the whisper of fabric between them now, he began the brush her lips with his knuckles, circle her with his thumb. At the direct contact, she cried out loudly. The sound of her continued to arouse him, but as he did before, he set his own arousal to the side, not ignoring it, but ignoring the desire to do something with it, to act on it, which would be to take her here and now and simply thrust into her until he came. Rather, he used that power and channeled it into every inch of her that he could possibly reach. His own desire, knowing it would not yet be sated, hummed in the background. He continued to pleasure her with his hands, just as she imagined he had with a glass of scotch in his hand. By her movements and her throaty whine told him that she recognised the movements, she was now literally feeling him with her own body, not just imagining him. When he finally slid a finger inside her, he felt her tense around him. He could feel her wetness grow.

But this time, he added his mouth.

——

Something inside of her had taken over, not only was Harry controlling the waves of heated pleasure crashing over her with increasing intensity, she was responding with a freedom and a willingness to surrender to his expert touch. Not holding back her need for more, to be touched more, to feel more of him. She was fully turned on and if he wanted to take her while she was in a panda suit, she would ask him where she could change. She was open to him and did not hesitate to express what she felt in response to what he was doing to her.

When she realised that he was using his hands, his fingers just like he was the night in the lounge, she was afraid that just the idea of it happening for real, might push her over the edge. Her mind kept flashing back to that evening, and even as she felt his fingers around her, touching her, circling her and then, oh God, finally, slipping into her, she could see his knowing stare, his cockiness at seeing her pleasure. But to see him in her mind and then feeling him behind her was intoxicating. She felt tipsy, like she had too much of Harry Hart, but she still wanted more.

She moved against his hand. She squeezed his finger as he moved it in tiny pulses deep within her. She was crying out with every breath now. Small whimpers of need, moans of pleasure, at times almost screaming with it. She couldn’t help it.

And then she felt something change. Not quite change. She felt something more. Something soft and hot as wet like she was. It was his mouth and she almost died when she realised it. If he didn’t stop what he was doing back there, she was going to come. She could feel it growing like a garden he was tending to with his lips wrapping around her own erect little bud. His velvet tongue sliding into her body, using his mouth, tasting her, devouring her. He was everywhere now. Though his hands, his mouth, his lips and tongue were concentrated on her most sensitive areas, she felt him with every surface of her body, with the tip of every nerve. With the same continuous movements, over and over he continued to suck, rub, circle and pulse, until her body started to tremble and tense and release and tense even more.

Even as her orgasm grew momentum like a wave moving to shore, Harry pulled away before it could crash until he saw that the wave had retreated. But he maintained contact with her. He cupped her between her legs with his palm. Not moving, not sexually, but almost like he was hugging her or holding her until she settled. She didn’t have enough time to find it odd before she began to enjoy the pressure and the heat in an almost soothing, calming way. It was a touch that told her he was there.Just in a very personal way, in a very intimate area.

If she had been standing now and he told her to bend over his desk, she would have hit the wood so hard and fast that she might have knocked herself out. As it was now, her entire being was waiting for it. Asking for it. Begging for it.

She felt him rise from his chair. His hand was still cupping her gently.

“How are you feeling?” He asked. There was a smile in his voice.

If she had the voice to call him a cocky bastard, she would have. Since she didn’t think she could actually form words, she replied with a sigh that turned into a moan.

“Good.” He paused. “Are you prepared to receive me?

_Oh, god fuck, why did he have to say it like that?_

Just the way he said it made her clench involuntarily. She nodded her head. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to speak because her throat was so dry she couldn’t make out any words. Luckily, this time, he took her lack of words, more as speechlessness in the moment, rather than reticence about the near future.

There was another whisper of a zipper being pulled down, a rustle of movement.

“So you’re not surprised.” He said.

She was confused for a split second. _Surprised by what?_ She'd been surprised by _everything._

He reached for one of her hands and guided it toward him. She lifted up onto one elbow so she could brace herself. He placed her hand on his erection and then wrapped his hand over hers.

 _Fuck._ She was screaming internally now. _I’m touching it! He just put my hand on it. He’s in my hand. I’m holding him!_ Calling it “it” like she couldn’t even think that she had her palm around that part of him. She wrapped her fingers around as much as she could. Holding him felt like holding an iron bar wrapped in something smooth, pliant and warm. Not just warm. Hot. Her hand was burning. She wasn’t just surprised, she was slightly shocked. He was big. He was more than big. Thick and heavy. Has he been walking around with this the whole time? She had never had something that size inside of her before. _Holy shit._

All the adrenaline surged again into her blood stream, her heart beat quickened and her blood poured into her core. What was left flooded her cheeks. Apparently, her body had no doubt she could accommodate a man of his size. Her hips were moving back to take him inside of her. One hand halted the move of her hips.

“Be still.” He said. “Allow me”. It was his way of telling her he was in control.

She stopped, but as she tried to spread her legs even further apart, thinking of the sheer size of him. _He didn’t say I couldn’t move this way._

——

Harry didn’t want her moving back onto him. He would penetrate her properly, at the right pace and speed, with the right adjustments so his entry wasn’t painful for her. Women, in their haste, in their desire to please, and their eagerness for more, or excitement at his size, would often try to take him all at once, faster than they were ready for, making the experience unpleasant. It would burn and they would accept it as something to bear through, with the pain still lingering even as most of it subsided. Or men, focused on only their own need, would force themselves into their partner without finesse or technique. It was not that he was huge, he was just larger than average. He felt bigger to them because he knew how to use his properly.

She had shifted her legs wider. He had told her to be still, but he would let that slide since he did want her spread as wide as possible. She was definitely wet enough for both of them. More than enough for him to cover all of him. She cried out very loudly, when she felt him slide, not into her, but along the length of her as he coated himself. He could see that she was trying not to press into him.

 _Good girl,_ he thought.

He took his time, finally enjoying her slick hot wetness, the velvety the feel of her against his entire length. His own desire threatened to take over. How quick and simple it would be now. One quick, hard thrust and he would be fully into her. He twitched at the thought, but held fast, thinking, if a man treats a woman properly, he will have all the pleasure he can desire and more.

A gentleman, even during slightly kinky sex, Harry continued to pace himself. After he was just as slick as she was, using one hand to guide himself, the other hand pulled her bottom on one side, pulling her flesh away from her opening, and then the same to the other side. Holding his head firmly against her center, just the slightest pressure making her whimper and moan. He twitched again at the sound. Using his other hand to keep her pulled open, he slowly pressed into her, with a slight downward movement. He didn’t want to surprise her by slipping into the wrong hole. Once he made a little movement, he pulled out and repeated, making sure her skin wasn’t caught and dragged with him. He repeated this movement over and over, making sure she was sufficiently wet the entire time. On one of these pulses, his head slipped fully inside of her and locked into place. He stopped and let her simply feel him inside of her. She writhed before him, obviously stretched wide. He was most likely a size she had never taken before. She was very tight, extremely tight and even still squeezing him even harder, causing him to involuntary move inside of her as well. While he was still, while she was getting used to him inside of her, he took the time to just enjoy her in this space, in this position, being with her like this and being able to witness her surrender. It was truly an exquisite sight. He let his eyes travel over the soft skin of her back, the inward curve of her waist, the swell of her bottom. And the sight of him entering her, seeing her spread wide as she took him inside of her.

When her body began to relax and soften again, making sure she was wet, using his hand to pull her open wider until he could push himself farther into her. Stopping when she again, cried out, this time louder, with more arousal, more pleasure, more intensity in her voice. Her spasms were more intense and this time he had to concentrate not to let her push him over his own edge. He kept himself in check, not thinking of something else, not distracting himself, but once again, letting his own desire hum in the background. She had taken most of him. The only furrow in her brow was from pleasure that was close to pain, but not pain itself. He didn’t sense her tense or brace at all.

He glanced forward at the mirror and saw himself taking her. All men should be able to experience a woman like this, be with her in this way. But unfortunately, most men were only concerned with their own needs, never knowing the pleasure that one can receive, the possibilities that exist when a man properly attends to his woman. He always heard complaints about men’s wives or girlfriends, that they didn’t desire sex, or were frigid. He assumed that most men didn’t know how to satisfy a woman, and therefore, left without the opportunity for a true intimate physical relationship.

Simply attuning to the needs of a woman, no matter how reticent or hesitant, if they were assured, listened to, both their words and their actions, felt safe and protected and respected in a man’s company. Like Gwendolyn, could give and receive pleasure most men and women only fantasise about.

When her body told him she was ready, he made his final push into her. She received him like she was a wave on the ocean, her body fluid and relaxed and responsive with no resistance.

Perfect, he thought.

“Gwendolyn.” His own voice was now deep and rough and low. “Look in the mirror.”

When she looked up, he felt her spasm around him. At first she simply gazed at herself like she was an entirely new creature that she had never seen before, unrelated to her. So he pulsed a little within her and as he did so, she watched herself react in pleasure. He did it again. She responded.

He would have continued to move, but he paused with his entire length inside of her. He simply let her experience the intensity of purely having him. Still. Motionless. While she was filled, when looking in the mirror, she looked up at him, seeing everything. The way he stood close behind her, the flex of his forearms as his hands gripped the sides of her hips, his shirt, tie removed, unbuttoned down the front. The way his blood pulsed in the side of his neck, and then up to his face. To his eyes. And this time she caught his gaze and held it.

Sex wasn’t always about thrusting, hard and fast. Granted there are times when that movement takes precedence, but if that is all a man has under his belt, so to speak, he is denying himself and his partner a whole other world of pleasure. As he expected, just the stillness of him inside her, allowed her to experience him in a way she had never felt anyone else before him. For, through this kind of pairing, for the receiving partner, there is no other sensation that is akin to taking someone inside of them, of being opened and of being filled.

Their eyes were still locked. When she started to subtly roll her hips into him, he spread her one more time, from her bottom and from underneath, between her legs, pushing in so he was in contact with her little bud. Every inch of skin that had the possibly of touching him was firmly connected against him. There was plenty of her wetness to spread all around these areas that touched. With this contact in place, he placed his palms on her outer thighs and closed her legs around him as he pressed into her, his legs now behind and bracing hers. She would be in a better position to instinctively squeeze her knees and thighs together during climax, and have more contact with the front of his body.

Not quite so much thrusting, as it was rocking with her, he pushed against her without pulling out her, never losing the skin to skin contact between the front of his hips and the backs of hers.

She was calling out freely. He was glad it was late and there was no one to hear her except him because she sounded as beautiful as he thought she would. She held his gaze until finally, the pleasure was too much for her that she had to close her eyes. He kept his pace steady, only changing the angle of his movement inside of her, or rotating his hips into her in a circular motion, just as he did with his thumb, but this time with his entire pelvis.

\---

 _Oh my dear god_. She thought. Or did she scream it? She couldn’t tell. She felt as any control over her mind or her body was given over to Harry. She was completely helpless do to anything other than let her entire body tremble as waves of pleasure crashed over her. This time, rather stopping, he rode the waves to intensify them, until her the whole of her began to tense, her grip on to him tighter and her pleasure bore down on her. With one firm and final motion that now she pushed back on to fully, grinding her hips against him. Her orgasm began as she helplessly cried out his name over and over. Tears flowed from the corners of her eyes and dampened her cheeks. She shuddered and arched back against him as she was overcome by a pleasure so intense it was almost painful, almost too much for her to bear. How could she ever have considered walking away from this? From this feeling, from this man. It was unthinkable. She spasmed against him longer and harder than she ever had before. More than she thought was physically possible. And, _oh my god,_ still, it kept coming. She kept coming.

 _It was Harry_. She had no doubt that no other man could have brought her to this level of pleasure, this state of existence, as Harry Hart. Not only because of the things he was doing to her physically, but because of who he was. Because of the man he was. Because it was him she was giving herself to. He was still fully inside of her, pushed up against her as deep as possible. She trembled around his entire length as she writhed in ecstasy. Over, and over and over. She was still crying out his name even as the last swell of unimaginable sensations crashed into her.

\-----

When he felt her begin to climax, he thrust fully into her and held himself against her, but he released her hips so she could now move as freely as she wanted to. While she was overcome, he concentrated on her pleasure, how she looked how she moved. How his name sounded on her lips as she screamed because her experience was so intense it needed even another way to find release. The look of pain on her face, that was not from pain, but her desire finally realised fully and completely and thoroughly. He felt her pleasure just as deeply, but he didn’t let himself physically release, not yet. Not until the last spasm wracked through her. Not until she was done. It was a pleasure that was pain for him as well. Even though he wanted to close his eyes against it coursing through him, he kept watch on her, memorising every angle, very curve of her body, every expression on her face.

As she slowed and her body calmed, still inside of her, he folded his body over her own. His chest against her back. His face next to hers. He kissed the side of her face, her cheek, the line of her jaw. He smoothed her hair away from her forehead and rested his mouth there. Her skin was flushed and hot against his lips. He felt the wetness of her tears. Tears that she had never let herself cry in sadness or vulnerability, not in his presence, now dampened her cheeks when she let her self be overcome by him. He rested against her like this for as long as he was able after she had relaxed.

Her eyes remained closed. He brushed the side of her face with the back of his hand. With the intent to move with her permission, he asked.

“And my dear, how are you feeling, now?”

She responded simply, with such emotion, such feeling, the vulnerability and with notes of tenderness that he had never heard from her or ever heard in her voice.With no defence she simply whispered his name with as much feeling and warmth as a thousand fires.

“ _Harry…_ ”

It was all she said. But the sound of his name from her lips, in all of her vulnerability. That it would be his name that she would say first, touched him in a way that he had never been touched. In a place he had never been touched. It said to him, he was here in this moment with her. That, as he knew this experience was not about him, she recognised that her experience was not only her’s alone. That it was also his. And he knew this was the kind of connection that he was always searching for in relationships and in sex, but never felt at this level.

All of this manifested in his body as pleasure. For a man, one of the times he is most vulnerable is during sex. Most men will guard themselves and never achieve the full state of arousal that vulnerability will invite. However, if he is able to express that vulnerability, it will be the purest, most pleasurable sex with the most intense climax he will ever achieve. For Harry, that time was now. The experience was his. Every single fibre of his being, not just his length inside of her began to move both with her and within her again. Her cry only fanned the flame of his desire.

He wanted to feel her skin against his. He reached underneath her to unbutton her blouse. Realising what he wanted she lifted her chest to help him. Harry continued to unbutton the rest of his shirt and flung it to the side as he never did. The same time, Gwendolyn’s blouse slipped over the side of the desk. He leaned completely over her, feeling her nakedness as much with his entire body as he drank it in though his eyes. He slid one arm underneath her, his forearm around her chest, holding her even tighter into him as he pressed his himself into her bare back and shoulders. It was as if the closest he could get was still not close enough. His need was immense and the feel of her, being inside of her overcame him. He let himself thrust into her, giving into her and giving himself to her.

——

This was different, she thought. _Harry was different_. Even more different, if that was possible. It seemed like the more time she spent with him, the more of him was revealed and every time it was a revelation. He wasn’t simply finishing. This was much more. The feel of him was huge. Not only the part that was inside of her. Whatever he was feeling was huge, for him. When he was giving her pleasure, he remained in complete control. Impressively, so. Not that he wasn’t in control now, but there was a new element, a sensitivity, a receptivity. It was a willingness to receive as well as give. She knew that he enjoyed every moment with her, but this was different from enjoyment. Even greater than lust or passion, though those were the physical elements. It felt like devotion. If cherishing someone could take on a physical expression, it would feel like this. She was moved by this even more than when he had his full attention on her physically and mentally. Before, he was making sure she had a wonderful, memorable experience. Now, he just wanted to experience her. _Was it that she was losing herself to him? And him in her?_

 _This was being together_ , she thought, before his movements, the feel of him, the heat of his skin against hers both inside of her and out, both pressing their entire length in to her an against her, carried her off with him. He rocked into her with a brutal passion, making her cries sound from the base of her throat.His own jaw clenched in silence as she found herself responding just as fiercely, insisting, demanding more from him as she pushed her hips to meet his.

——

His other hand was everywhere. He wanted to feel her beneath his palm, her hair, her neck, her back, her side, her legs, her bottom. And the more he felt, the more he ached for her. The space between them was stormy, tumultuous, both experiencing from each other a pleasure that was so powerful it was almost violent. It was beyond pleasure. A sensation so forceful, so overwhelming, it was at the cusp of unbearable. It was otherworldly. When he pushed her over the edge once more into her climax, as she convulsed helplessly against him, she cried out his name again and again with total abandon, just as fervently as before. The sound of his name from her lips, the way she pulsed around him and against him as she cried out, made him call out his own desire for her. It drove him far, far outside what he thought was his edge and crashed into heights of pleasure that was close to death. Together, they rose up and rode each swell and they came together. Over and over and over far surpassed the realm of what they thought possible.

\------(UDPATED)

Harry felt as if he had been broken open. Not only was he vulnerable physically, mentally and emotionally with all of his being, another part of him had been laid bare. The surface of who he was felt burned away, revealing a new unguarded self without the shields that he had held up against anyone who sought more than he had to give.

Sometimes, in the past, he had thought himself incapable of finding love. His hand had been dealt.One year would pass by, followed by the next and no one would come to stir his heart. Years became decades. And then the decades had almost become a lifetime. Surely, it would have happened, with all the people that he’d met throughout the years. He had experienced affection, fondness, admiration and respect, and yes, lust and desire for the handful of women who had at one point, entered his life.

But he never felt the visceral sensation of wanting more of a person, not just physically, but more of everything. To experience more of them and experience more with them. The idea of revealing who he was to someone was foreign to him. It was the first time he felt compelled to share not only his life, his space, his time, but share more of who he was. The first time he wanted someone to know more about him.

He had spent his life guarding his privacy. Erecting boundaries so he could maintain a proper distance with the world around him and its inhabitance. He could count days worth of time skirting topics that threatened to glimpse inside the stronghold that held his most personal thoughts, feelings, experiences, emotions. He had blocked off countless attempts that tried to push deeper into his life beyond what he offered. The part of his life that was accessible to others, were the parts of his life that were visible, tangible, concrete things. He could share an evening, a dinner, a drink. Sometimes he could even share his bed. But once someone began to pry under the surface, wanting him to share his feelings, his history, his desires, his fears. he knew it was time to move on. 

Part of his disinclination for closeness was his life both as a soldier and a spy. He not only possessed the ability to turn off his emotions at will, but there was also the ability to armour himself against the emotions that others wanted him to recognise in themselves. Of course he would recognise the emotion, anger, sadness, confusion felt by others, but these feelings failed to rouse in him a comparable response. Some women had wanted to matter more to him. How many times had he been forced into a situation where the only answer he could provide was, “Not as much as you would like me to.” Harry Hart was never one to fake an emotion he did not feel.

All of his relationships and friendships followed a pattern. They always ended. Merlin had been his closest and oldest colleague. His was the most recent loss. The remaining connection that he has was through Eggsy. Eggsy was the last remaining link to his past.

Part of his distance was in self preservation, but there was another aspect to his mindset.

He was in his late fifties, already past the age that most agents never get to reach. Not because they were no longer working. Not because they had retired. But because they had been killed in action. He could not begin to count the number of close calls that he experienced in the past. He had come out of circumstances that others wouldn’t have a prayer escaping. And when he thought the end had finally come for him, one afternoon in Kentucky, telling him his time was up, that all of his cards had been played, he pulled one last ace from his sleeve. Harry Hart had cheated death, too.

One could only skirt death so many times. Being a soldier and being a spy made one very familiar with death and mortality. They were ever present. Harry accepted his mortality long ago and he knew that his end would inevitably come. That it could every time he went on a mission. He was comfortable with his death.

What disturbed him was someone, who was not prepared to lose him, finding him gone suddenly, one day, without warning and unable to cope with the loss, never being able to know where, how or why. With closure never in reach. He did not want to leave behind someone who would grieve his passing. He could not bear the thought of leaving behind a beloved alone. He did not want a beloved to feel the pain of his loss.

Of course his colleagues would mourn, just as Eggsy and Merlin had mourned him when they thought him dead. And now, as he and Eggsy mourned Merlin at his passing. But agents knew what the life of a spy entailed. They were aware and prepared for the sacrifice.

And now here he was. Without ties as he had wanted. He might not be as spry as he was in his twenties, but was still one of the best agents to have ever donned the iconic Kingsman suit. The rigours of the life hadn’t worn him down. Plus, he had decades of experience and knowledge, which at times was even more valuable than physical prowess. However, inevitably, there would come the day when he was not fast enough, his mind not quick enough, his reflexes not immediate enough. When being Harry Hart would not be enough.

Kingsman would go on without him. Even though he had no heirs, Kingsman would carry on his legacy. If he left someone else behind, outside of their circle, they would have no support to help with the loss. No memorial. Not even a grave to visit if they ever felt alone and needed something physical to represent that he was once a part of their life.

It was a suffering that he did not wish to impose on anyone, let alone someone he loved.

Where did that leave Gwendolyn and himself? The law of averages said that his time would come sooner rather than later and also sooner than hers. She admitted the day she joined them that, like Harry, she was leaving nothing of value behind. If they were to get involved, how would she feel then? Could she face another loss? She was a strong and capable person, one of the strongest that he had ever met. But that was an enormous burden to ask one person to carry. Since she had not officially dedicated herself to Kingsman, the support of the agency was not guaranteed. She was able to operate without a full commitment because he was Arthur and he gave her allowances that in turn gave her the room and space to work in such a way she felt comfortable. It was ironic that commitment made her insecure about her future. Perhaps her refusal to plan was the same as his refusal to allow anyone to become close to him. A way for them each to hold pain and suffering at bay, whether it be their own or for the ones who could one day love them.

He had dug down far enough into the rabbit hole of “what ifs”. He pulled himself away from his thoughts and dedicated the full of his attention to simply be with her. The scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin underneath him, the feel of her body against his. She was spent. The intensity of the experience had left her in a state just below consciousness. A rest that was not quite sleep.

Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he slowly drew himself from inside of her. All the while he was still firmly against her, pressing soft kisses to the side of her face and hair. A sigh escaped her lips, but her eyes did not open. He wanted her to know that while he was leaving her in one way, he was still fully present, and that he was with her in another.

As gently as he could manage, he gathered her up. Tucking an arm behind her knees wrapping his other around her back and under her own arm, he lifted her off of his desk and held her to his chest. Her head rested gently in the curve of his shoulder.

With quiet steps, he carried her over to his settee. Her presence, her strength, her skill, made him forget how slight she really was. She felt delicate in his arms. Not a word he would associate with her. Unless he was thinking about the shape of her mouth. One of his first thoughts about her, upon seeing her for the first time, was that her mouth was delicate. She had automatically wrapped her arms around his neck which allowed him to spread a knitted ivory throw over the sofa so she wouldn’t be resting on cold leather. Holding her tenderly, he lowered her onto the blanket. Rolling onto her side, she pulled her knees into her chest and drew her elbows to her knees.One by one, he unfolded a leg so he could remove one of her heels and roll down a stocking, and then the next. When he was done, she curled up again.

A secure little ball. Her hands made little fists underneath her chin. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful to Harry. Perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen her. Completely natural, and without any shields. No caution, or a look that said she was trying to be strong. Her face was relaxed, without any need to hide an expression she did not want him to read. Her lips were soft. She felt real to him in a way that no other person had before.

He unfolded a second throw, a warm white, which was larger, softer, with a texture like fur and draped it over her entire body from her toe tips that were drawn close to her body, to under her chin so only the glow of her face and the darkness of her hair were visible.He reached for a pillow for underneath her head. A large one also, with down batting that she could sink into.

Harry knelt down next to her head and simply stroked the side of her face. Making sure that she could feel his presence. She had taken, what was for herself, a great risk, and let herself be vulnerable. She trusted him to guide and protect her and he took his responsibility very seriously. So as long as she was with him and in his space, he would keep her safe. It was an unfamiliar sensation. There were never a great many occasions where he simply desired to just touch a woman in a delicate way, only because he wanted to feel the fragility of her skin, the softness of her hair. It was tender in a way that was both soothing to her, but also for him.

In case she could still hear him, he whispered in a deep, low voice, to make sure she wasn’t alarmed that he might be leaving her alone.

“I will be right back. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He stood up, adjusted himself and walked over to his closet, picking up his shirt and her blouse and skirt and any other articles of clothing were tossed aside on his way there. He removed the rest of his clothing, draping his slacks over the hamper. He pulled on a pair of relaxed drawstring silk trousers meant for lounging and reached for the dark, wine coloured dressing gown along with his slippers. He always had a spare set of essentials kept in his office. Not that he expected to use them for an occasion like this, but one is always best prepared.

He shrugged the robe around him and tied the belt loosely about his waist. He quietly stepped over to the bar and poured a glass of water before returning to Gwendolyn. He set the glass down gently on the end table, on top of a marble coaster. He eased himself onto the sofa, in the space between the top of her head and the arm rest. Feeling him taking a seat with her, she woke up enough to snuggle further up the couch so she could lay her head on his legs. He offered her the glass of water and he held her head as she took a few small sips. After she was finished, she turned to her other side and nestled into Harry’s lap.He helped her rearrange her pillow and adjusted her blanket so she was comfortable, covered and warm.

Reaching for a smaller pillow to support his head and neck, he settled in as well. He would rest here with her for the rest of the evening, into the night. Gazing down at her sleeping face, he felt a sudden surge of protectiveness that demanded she never be hurt. He knew it was impossible, but he felt it nonetheless. Kingsman followed the credo that life is only risked to save another. But if faced with a situation where Gwendolyn was in danger, he felt the primal instinct that would drive him to kill or destroy anyone or anything that would cause her harm.

He knew that he would not sleep, but would remain in a state that was rest. Morning would bring whatever it chose to bring. During the time from this moment until the sunrise, he would be with her soley, feel the rise and fall of her chest, the sound of her breath, the weight of her resting on his lap, her stillness when he placed a palm over her hip, or shoulder or hair. Harry would be with her.

\-----

As it was, on that evening, two of the most guarded, reluctant and isolated hearts at Kingsman, lost, and then ultimately found themselves in each other.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR GETTING THIS FAR!
> 
> I pretty much wrote the whole of my Fanfic so I could justify writing about Harry Hart taking Gwendolyn over his desk :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Comments are always soooo appreciated. Especially for a newbie writer. Cheers!


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